


Mens et Manus

by OrchidScript



Series: Ars Morte [4]
Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Gen, M/M, Seance AU, Spirit Mediums, antari are spirit mediums
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:42:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrchidScript/pseuds/OrchidScript
Summary: “Please, sir. You must teach her. You’re the only one who can.”Holland took a breath, letting the woman’s words settle. It was pained and stilted, something only perceived by Kell standing in a corner of the room. This had been his idea. The woman had likely given him the same or a similar speech. She was a cook, employed by the Sanctuary for a number of years. She was likely responsible for all of the meals he had eaten while confined to bed in the last months. According to Kell, she claimed to have a gifted daughter -- gifted like the students the Sanctuary brought in. One she had asked Hastra, then Kell, now him to teach.Victorian Seance AU - Holland takes on a new student, Nasi, despite his injuries.
Relationships: Kell Maresh/Holland Vosijk, Talya/Holland Vosijk
Series: Ars Morte [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697851
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

“Please, sir. You  _ must _ teach her. You’re the only one who can.”

Holland took a breath, letting the woman’s words settle. It was pained and stilted, something only perceived by Kell standing in a corner of the room. This had been his idea. The woman had likely given him the same or a similar speech. She was a cook, employed by the Sanctuary for a number of years. She was likely responsible for all of the meals he had eaten while confined to bed in the last months. According to Kell, she claimed to have a gifted daughter -- gifted like the students the Sanctuary brought in. One she had asked Hastra, then Kell, now him to teach.

Under the table, Holland rolled his wrist and flexed his fingers. The nerves prickled under his skin, all of him still mending where Talya had been and left. His hair was still a faded, pale grey. His body continued to ache and smart, aged in a way that was strange at only 37. He found himself unconsciously reaching out to pull at the threads of the Veil, old habits coming too readily, too painfully. He couldn’t perform a simple trance without needing rest after; a basic reading without throwing up his last meal. Whatever gifts this girl had, he couldn’t teach her. She would be better off in the general pool of students; better off with Kell as a teacher, if he wasn’t bound up with the Bard girl.

“I appreciate your determination, madam. Believe me, I do,” Holland began in his usual, deep tone. “But your hopes in me are unfortunately misplaced. I cannot teach your daughter.”

The woman stared at him. “Why not? What’s wrong with her?”

Holland shakes his head. “Nothing is wrong with her. I’m sure she’s quite impressive, but I cannot be her teacher. I’ve been…” Holland paused, looking to Kell as he chose his next words. “Madam, I have not had access to my gifts for some time now.”

“What does that change?” She asked sharply. “You can just tell her, can’t you? She’s very good at instructions, taking direction. You’ll know if she’s done it right just by seeing.”

“Madam, I’m sorry but I c--.”

“Can’t or won’t, Master Vosijk.”

A sharp pain ran up Holland’s leg. He winced, closing his mouth and gritting his teeth together to stifle any noise. When he saw the look on the woman’s face -- stubborn, hurt, proud -- he decided it was best to keep it shut. Kell stood up straighter against the wall, his shoulders tensing in anticipation of nothing.

The woman let out a harsh breath. “I’ve been working at this institution for a long time. I have seen plenty of students come and go from that front door, and do you know what they all have in common, Master Vosijk?”

Holland kept quiet, but shook his head so she knew he was listening.

“They all have talents, but they have money behind it too,” she continued. She squared her shoulders, chin tilting up. “The only difference between my Nasi and anyone in this building is money. They have it, I don’t. She’s special and sweet, and it isn’t fair she gets overlooked--.”

“I don’t have money.” The words slipped out before Holland could stop himself. The air around them seemed to freeze, going still and cold in every corner of the room. The woman had caught his gaze as she spoke, but now hung there in front of him, unblinking and serious. Holland took in a slow breath, inhaling and exhaling the full capacity of his lungs before speaking again. “Your daughter’s name is Nasi?”

“Yes.”

“How old is she?”

“Just turned nine last week.” The woman pursed her lips, examining him closely. “Why are you asking?”

“Curious,” Holland shrugged. “Up until just then, you hadn’t said her name… Is she in school?”

“In a way.”

“A way?”

She nodded, the tightness of pride coming over her features again. “My sister teaches her two children and Nasi at her home. Why?”

Holland shakes his head. The pain in his leg had tightened, sunk deep into the bone and tissue. It twisted and burned, curled up in his nerves, trailing up to his hip, his spine. He ground his back teeth together, squeezing a hand into a fist to try mitigating the pain. It only did so much. He could only keep this facade up for so much longer. He cast a glance to Kell; the redhead always seemed to understand exactly, with or without words.

“Would you bring her here?” Holland asked, voice betraying him. “I would like to assess her skills and see how she works for myself.”

“So you  _ will _ teach her?”

“I make no promises for myself, madam,” Holland said. “I believe that she is talented, that she would do well as a student here. I cannot teach her, but if I can see her work, I can tell someone -- perhaps Kell here -- where to start with her lessons.”

It was a simple test, one they gave every prospective’s parents. Ask them to bring the child in for a practical exam. If they agreed, they believed their child was talented and the Sanctuary could evaluate just how. If they declined, they had been caught in a lie.

That was the way all their thinking went, according to Tieran. Holland had never completely agreed with the old man’s opinion of people. It hinged entirely on the belief that parents could be lying and that, if they were, the best course of action was to send them away. As if people so obsessed or desperate to pawn their child off as a spirit worker would be sufficiently admonished by the Sanctuary, as if they wouldn’t go immediately find someone else to convince. A slap on the wrist refusal from an old man wouldn’t deter them, Holland knew that all too well.

The woman sat for a long minute. It was a thoughtful quiet. A newfound hesitancy settled over her features and had not disappeared when she lifted her eyes back to his. “That would be alright. I’ll bring her with me tomorrow… I do have one question.”

“What would that be?” Kell stepped forward. His blue eyes flickered to Holland, noting the sheer willpower that was keeping him upright and in control. Understanding without seeing, always understanding without seeing. Holland remembered when he regarded this habit of Kell’s as nothing but irritating. Now he was nothing but grateful for it.

The woman hardly noticed the shift, turning in her chair to look towards Kell. “If I bring her, I still… I still have to work. She won’t be alone, will she?”

“I’ll make sure she isn’t. I’ll collect her from you tomorrow morning. Once Holland has seen what he needs to, I’ll keep her with me,” Kell promised. 

“But won’t that--.”

“It won’t interfere with my classes, in fact I’d like her to see them,” Kell insisted. “If she’s going to be learning here, she should know what will be expected of her.”

“And, if you do accept her… what then?”

Kell nodded. “You’re referring to the boarding requirement?”

“Yes, she’s…” The woman looked down at her hands. “She’s all I have, Master Maresh. I want her to have the opportunity, but I don’t want to lose her. You understand?”

“As well as I can, madam,” Kell answered smoothly. “I’m not a parent, so I can only imagine.”

When the woman had gone -- more pleased than when she had sat down with them -- Kell moved immediately to Holland’s side. “Where?”

“Legs,” Holland gritted out. He let the act fall, dropping back onto the cushions and closing his eyes. “Again.”

He feels Kell’s hands ghost over one leg, then the other. “Can I move you upstairs?”

“You shouldn’t have moved me downstairs to begin with.”

“I’m sorry, but she--.”

Holland waved him off. Another wave of pain rolled from his knees up to his hips. Tears prickled behind his eyes in its wake. He bit into his lip to fend them off. “Not now. I need to lay down.”

Kell squeezed his hand and stood. “I’m going to lock the door and lay you on the ground. When it passes, we’ll get you upstairs.”

Having his back flat on the parlor rug didn’t help entirely, but it was better than risk anyone in the Sanctuary seeing him having to be carried up to his bedroom. Holland would rather lay on the floor, squeezing Kell’s hand to breaking until the pain subsided rather than have students and colleagues see him cracking apart. See him weak, see him fragile. Holland would not have his authority damaged by this. He would not let this ruin him, even if all his ability was gone.

He closed his eyes, covering them with the crook of his elbow. Tears that managed to escape soaked into his shirt sleeve, his breathing giving his condition away. All the while, Kell sat silently next to him, gripping Holland’s hand as tightly as Holland was his. There was comfort in that silence; comfort in knowing that he had had it for months now without asking, without it wavering.

“I cannot teach her, Kell,” Holland whispered.

“Yes, you can,” Kell answered, slowly, patiently.

“Look at me. I am in no condition to be out of my bed, let alone instructing a child on things I can no longer do.”

“You give your lessons perfectly fine n--.”

“Lessons on  _ theory _ given  _ sitting down _ ,” Holland snapped. “Not to mention the things I take to dull the pain enough  _ to do only that _ . I can’t teach her, Kell.”

“And yet you’ve asked to see her tomorrow.”

“Yes, and you will be right there with me.  _ You _ will be the one teaching her, not me. I’ll advise as best I can, but I will not--.”

“Meet her, Holland,” Kell cut him off easily. He squeezed hard, pressing a kiss to Holland’s fingers. “Meet her, see what she is capable of, then decide what you can or cannot do. For all we know, she could have no power at all and there really is  _ nothing _ we could teach her… Do you really think you cannot, or do you not want to?”

Holland rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the ceiling. The pain was starting to die down, not enough that he would risk moving, but enough. “I… I don’t know, Kell.”


	2. Chapter 2

Holland spent nearly all of the next day in bed. He took coffee, tea, a second course of tonic for his nerve pain in bed. He read a small stack of spiritualist papers propped up against pillows. He ate lunch, dinner, took yet more medications; kissed and held Kell as the younger man fell asleep next to him.

The bedroom around him was washed in greyed purple, then disappeared altogether as night fell. As gas lights were lit, candles snuffed out, and heavy curtains were drawn. As he settled, eyes adjusting, the darkness yielded to the outlines of the physical world. The shades of grey that marked sleeplessness instead of the Veil.

Kell had fallen asleep quickly, his arm a heavy but secure over Holland’s chest. His head was tucked down, his legs drawn up, as if he was trying to make himself smaller in sleep. For a moment, Holland regretted turning down Kell’s earlier offer of relief of a different sort. He could have kept the younger man awake with kisses, touches, warmth and weight; maybe have him awake even now.

But this night Holland stared up at the room’s painted ceiling, alone in the dark.

Yes, truly alone. That was not something Holland had been able to say for close to a year. Talya had been needed elsewhere, borrowed by the Bard girl for a seance across town. Even without knowing that, without having agreed to it, Holland could have sensed she was far from him. The orange and rose scent of her presence, the subtle creak of a chair when she seated herself, the cold brush of fingertips through his hair. He was missing her. He could have used her patient ear that night, her gentle but uncompromising advice.

The only thing on his mind was the young child he had seen that morning.  _ Auditioned _ was likely the better word. Laying there now, Holland wondered if he had been too harsh in his assessment. He had put her through a series of tests, all intended to weed out a weakness, a flaw, a fraud.

Nasi -- who had curtsied in her white dress and introduced herself as “Nasreen” -- had done well. As well as any beginner could have been expected to, especially one as young as her. The Sanctuary didn’t usually accept such young students. Kell had been the youngest in its history when he arrived shortly after his seventh birthday. Nasi, if accepted, would be the next youngest at only nine.

An exception.

A potential prodigy.

Holland didn’t know if he would accept her as his student. If he would agree to teach her whatever he could manage.

In all honesty, he did not want to. 

He was still healing, still torn at the edges. He was still nursing the quiet wound of losing all access to the skills he had known, relied on, and thrived with his entire life. His body turned against him. Trances caused him electrifying pain. Seances, even aided by Kell, caused him to faint, to vomit. 

Pride pinched under his skin.

He refused to subject a child to that. He refused to widen the circle of people who knew about his infirmities. His singular weekly class was pushing his limits as it was.

That was not the only reason.

Holland had set certain expectations before Kell had shown the girl to his room. Expectations for her skills. Expectations for her base knowledge. Expectations for her grasp of innate, natural maneuvers and descriptions of shades. He had not set an expectation for her appearance. 

Small and slight, dressed in neat starched cotton, clean tights, a simple coat. She wore gloves too big for her hands and blinked moth-like grey eyes at him when he asked her to remove them. When she curtsied, seriously introducing herself in a hushed voice, he saw the scuff marks on her boots, the frayed laces holding them to her feet. He had decided she liked her right then, but he still had to give her a comprehensive test.

She had risen to each of his challenges, performing admirably. He wouldn’t dare go as far as to call her extraordinary, because she wasn’t. She was persistent, determined; he could see that in the crease of her brow as she concentrated, in the set of her large grey eyes. If she did not understand, she told him so, then grit her teeth and tried anyway. It was respectable, impressive, something Holland rarely said about anyone, let alone a student.

She was not a prodigy, but Holland could teach her to be.

And still he did not want to.

Her age was a sticking point. Not even ten, not nearly old enough to agree to the cloister, the confinement that the Sanctuary required. Kell had been younger, insisted to anyone that it had been his choice and his alone to stay and hone his craft. It was a story he clung to. Sometimes, in the quiet moments, in the dark moments, the man would admit the reality. That his parents had been more than happy to be rid of him, handing him over to the Sanctuary and its teachings willingly. The knowledge of that shredded him, even now.

Kell had spent twenty full years tied to the institution they now slept within; he had known nothing else of life and knew it in his core. Holland did not relish subjecting the girl to the same.

“I’ll say she is too young,” Holland whispered to the dark ceiling. As he thought, he ran fingers through Kell’s soft red hair. A small comfort, a steady sensation. “Not that she is untouchable, just that… a little more maturity would suit the rigor of the lessons required. The mother won’t like that, I suppose, but she seems reasonable.” Holland glanced down at the top of Kell’s head. “What might she do then?”

A chill ran through his veins. What might she do, he wondered as worry crept into his mind. People were fickle, changeable, unpredictable at best, dangerous when desperate. If the Sanctuary didn’t take young Nasi in, anyone could. Anyone in London could have her, and likely for a price.

He lay still as stone.

The girl was newly nine years old -- the same age he had been when his brother had given up and pawned him off to the first bider. He had spent the years after moving from crowded theater to street carnival to rooms locked by demanding patrons. Her mother seemed devoted to her education, to her unlocking whatever talent may lie beneath. Holland respected that and had no reason to believe she would do anything to harm her daughter. But anyone could be taken in -- confidence artists lurked behind any corner. They sniffed out desperation and earnestness like bloodhounds and preyed on it. If the mother couldn’t see the forest for the trees…

“She’d be lost,” Holland whispered. He squeezes his eyes tightly together. Images from his own memories danced behind his eyelids for the few moments -- the last memories of his parents, his brother’s drunken swagger as he left him behind, rebelling against direction and orders until his resolve concertinaed altogether. He took in a slow breath and opened his eyes. “No, that can’t happen…”

Holland had been lost.

The little girl might be too.

Guilt worms around in his brain. Kell shifts in his sleep, one of his legs coming to rest between Holland’s. Holland rests his hands on Kell’s back, ignoring the discomfort in his hips caused by the fresh weight. 

“If I… if I refused and she…? There’s no ‘if’, she’d be gone in an instant…” Holland sighed heavily. He twisted his fingers in the back of Kell’s pajamas, willing the physical pain and the painful recollections away. When they didn’t go, he gave up. The accident had also taken his iron will, another shameful thing in his mind. “I have to accept her, don’t I? That’s the only way to keep in line with my conscience, isn’t it?”

Kell mumbled something that did not sound like words and wriggled in place.

“That’s the only way then,” Holland murmured. He looked down at Kell’s head. “When I tell you in the morning, you’ll take it as a victory. There’s no harm in that, but I cannot meet your expectations… or her’s. You can’t teach grammar with a ruined textbook.”

Holland had understood before the lights extinguished that he would not sleep that night. For the first time in years, facing a long, dark night alone seemed daunting.

~*~*~*~

_ Kell opened his eyes to pitch blackness. This alone wasn’t cause for alarm -- he had found himself wandering the folds of the Veil many times in sleep, enough to find it comforting some nights. That blackness came with a certain cool sensation, a certain fluidity he did not find in dreams. Voices would swirl, long-dead hands would graze his face. He would sit down among it and float, assuredly at home. _

_ This blackness was not the same.  _

_ It was tight, suffocating, leaving him gasping for air and trying to shove against invisible walls around him. Anxiety gripped his mind. A feral panic curled in his stomach, leaving him feeling transformed -- a wild animal throwing itself against the bars of a sealed cage. _

_ He soon realized he wasn’t the only caged animal. _

_ The blackness began to clear with a voice. A small one, young and determined, huffing. A staccato whine of words half formed. The sound of shoulders and hands smacking hard again wood. The world in front of Kell’s eyes faded to greys, revealing the inside of a spirit cabinet. He would recognize one anywhere -- the shallow cabinet, the small bench built into the back where many a medium would sit and channel.  _

_ He felt his blood settle only to spike again shortly after. There was someone else in the cabinet. A young boy, no more than eleven years old. Kell couldn’t make out much in the dark. Only his dark hair, the rumpled collar of his shirt, the sound of his heavy breathing as he curled up and kicked furiously against the cabinet’s doors.  _

_ “Let me out.... Let me out!” _

_ “Quiet, you brat.” _

_ The doors opened, flooding the inside of the cabinet with afternoon sunlight. The boy’s next kick was stopped in mid-air as a hand caught his leg by the ankle and tugged him out of the cabinet. Kell was able to blink away the surprise of the sudden light quick enough to catch the scrunched nose, the creased brow, the snarl and flaring green eyes. _

_ It was Holland. Young and fierce, but still Holland. _

_ The cabinet dissolved around him. _

_ In its place formed something colder, something darker. Even before the scene came together around him, Kell already knew it reeked of death, black magic rendered improperly, of oshoc waiting in the wings.  _

_ He found himself kneeling next to another Holland, one older than the first but still younger than Kell dared remember him to be. Damp ground soaked into the knees of his pajamas. Upturned soil and the stench of old blood wafted in the air.  _

_ “Come now, Holland. We asked a very simple thing of you. We paid you good money--.” _

_ “You didn’t pay me--.” _

_ “Then you’ll make yourself useful. Or I’ll set you floating in the Thames with the other garbage.” _

_ Kell tilted his head, just enough to see the other man kneeling with his shoulders hunched over. His eyes were shut tight, black hair falling limply in front of his face. A soft snow was falling around them, but Holland was dressed in nothing but his trousers and a thin shirt. Cold wind cut between them, leaving the other magician shivering, nearly whimpering. There were two pairs of boots just behind him, the sweep of winter coats fluttering in and out of view. A man and a woman by the sound of the voices.  _

_ Kell dared not look.  _

_ Something told him that would be dangerous, perhaps a breach of trust. _

_ “It can’t be done,” Holland insisted. “What you’re asking cannot be done.” _

_ “Then try harder, Holland.” _

_ “If a weakling like Vasryn can figure it out, a genuine antari should have no issue. Should he, Athos?” _

_ “No, he shouldn’t.” _

_ “But--.” _

_ “Quiet.” A pale hand reached down to grab Holland under the jaw. Nails sunk into the soft skin of his cheek, cutting in. A thin gasp escaped his lips. “Bring our mother back, Vosijk. Like you promised me you could.” _

Kell woke up gasping, tangled in sheets and quilts. A weight had been lifted from his windpipe. He blinked and shuddered, morning light finally reaching his eyes and making sense. He stared at the ceiling, mapping the curves and shadows of the twilight clouds painted there. He was in Holland’s bedroom. It was morning. It had only been a dream.

He reached a hand out, groping the sheets in search of the older man. He found nothing, no one next to him. But the blankets were still warm. He hadn’t been gone long.

“Are you alright?” The mattress dipped and Holland was leaning over him. His face was creased in worry, eyes dull from little sleep. Maybe no sleep. Kell couldn’t tell. 

“Fine,” he coughed. With some help he untangled himself from the blankets and pushed himself up to sitting. He ran hands over his face and through his hair. “I’m fine. Just a bad dream. That’s all.”

“Bad dream or a bad walk?” Holland arched a dark eyebrow, knowing there could be a difference. He was dressed, the dark wood cane he used leaning up against his leg.

“Bad dream,” Kell said with certainty, nodding. “I’m sure.”

“Would you--?”

Kell shakes his head furiously. “No, I don’t want to talk about it. It isn’t worth worrying over, I promise.”

Holland looked unconvinced, but allowed it to pass. “Alright. I… I may have something to take your mind off it.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Holland shifted, a hand settling on his leg and gripping. Kell noted it for later; he always noted the small signs. “I… I’ve decided to take on the girl. To teach her.”

“That’s good news,” Kell smiled. “Any reason or was she just that interesting?”

“I decided that,” Holland sighed, choosing his words. “I decided she shouldn’t be left to the devices I was, that you were. I… I may need your help.”

Kell placed a hand on Holland’s. “Then you have it. I’ll tell her mother this morning.”

As he helped Holland into a chair and dressed himself, Kell’s brain didn’t stop working. By the time he had knotted his tie and attached his pocket watch, a realization was prickling in the back of his mind. It swirled and grew as he went to collect coffee and breakfast. Understanding smacked him from behind halfway down the stairs. 

Yes, it had been a dream. A bad dream. But they had not come from his own mind, his own imagination. What he had seen had been Holland’s. Memories churning through his mind as he lay awake that night, transmitted through the palms of his hands into Kell’s dreams.  _ Left to the devices I was _ rang in his ears. Right alongside another realization: that Holland had done that without knowing it.


End file.
